


Star Child

by Mahoroba



Series: Avengers For Dinner [9]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Comics - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, X-Men
Genre: Angst, Dry Humping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Filth, Forget Dirty Dancing, Relationship square, This is Filthy Dancing, Vaginal Fingering, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-14 21:47:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9204719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mahoroba/pseuds/Mahoroba
Summary: “Come with me,” Stark’s voice was a needy purr in your ear. “Please.”In which Remy LeBeau takes you for a night out - and things quickly escalate when a wild Tony Stark appears.





	1. I thought you came down from heaven to save us

Whoever he was, he was a magnificent dancer.

 

Okay, maybe he really wasn’t THAT great, but he kept up with you, which was really no small feat. As you undulated with the music, he’d still, catching the new way you moved, before he joined with you again. He was warm, smelled amazing; expensive cologne. Had to be another one of the club’s high rolling clientele. It didn’t matter; not like you were going to get married to the dude after this. Tilting your head back into him, you could feel the scratch of facial hair against your throat, his hands settling about your waist, slipping to hold your hips firm against him, before letting up to run luxuriously down the front of your thighs. Campfire burn of fine whiskey caressed your ear, and you sank back into him, so close to feel the steady pulse of his heart against your back.

 

He was delicious; just what the doctor ordered. The pleasure wafting off of him and into you was intoxicating. It bubbled through his skin, effervescent, slipped into yours. Visions of this continued dance, sans clothing, flitted through your mind. He wanted you, and that was okay. Everyone got a little lust drunk on the dance floor, especially with as good as you were feeling seeping into the air around you. His desire sparked your own, and you spoke back to him through visions, let him know the deepest parts of you. Yeah, your heart was with Clint, but man, it didn’t stop you from being human. Your dirty little secrets, the things you thought about when you were alone, flitted to the surface of your mind, skipped across the distance to his own mind like stones tossed across a pond. And you could feel him respond, eagerly turning the pages of the book you’d opened to him. You may be unable to see his face in the darkness of the club, but you could feel his body respond. He spoke to you in turn, the images he sent back were enough to make you catch your breath. They were so strong you could practically feel his hands in your hair, across your bare skin, feel him inside you, thrusting, hot, wet - 

 

He pulled all of the hunger in your head to the surface, eagerly drinking it all in – pausing on a fantasy of you with Clint and Steve, and…Tony.

 

Yes, Tony.

 

It’d sort of caught you by surprise; so much so that you paused in dancing for the briefest of moments. Your partner’s gently insistent grind against your rear brought you back. Hell, why not go with it? Tony too. You didn’t dislike the man; if anything, there was a lot to like about him, if you were going to go on with that flight of fancy in your head. Truth be told, it was nice to let your thoughts fly without worrying about telepaths catching more than you wanted them to know. He seemed to respond favorably – looks like you had an Avengers fanboy on your hands. Whatever; you could totally get down with that. With Tony on both of your minds, he seemed to be coaxing you further, wanting to uncover all of what you thought about the genius billionaire playboy.

 

And you gave it to him.

 

Oh, yeah, Tony…That snark. The way he smiled at you; always had some smart-ass comment for you. His silly beard – mustache thing. The way his hands moved when he tinkered. The swagger in his hips, the way his clothing fit just so. The fact that he knew everything, and yet, still –sometimes- had enough sense to know when to pry and when not to. Even in the midst of the whole Clint vs. Steve thing, you couldn’t help but to keep some idle thoughts about the inventor. Intelligence was a turn on, and he had it in droves. His confidence – like Remy’s, just without the same poisonous charm to it. Remy, he was different – falling for Remy meant a heart beyond broken. Tony; well, Tony would be a hell of a ride. The more the merrier. The bass flooding your body, taking over your pulse, the way he felt behind you, it was all starting to reach to a boiling point, about to reach that precipice, and you couldn’t care less about trying to shield yourself. Not when you, when he, felt so fucking amazing. He responded to the shift in you, holding you closer, desperate now, his hips harder into you. Rhythm melted into a full on filthy grind, and it was _excellent_. His hands were working up and down your thighs now, fingernails dragging against your skin, his palms running flat over the front of you, higher and higher still. He had enough sense to stop before he got to your breasts, but truthfully, at this point, it didn’t matter if he copped a feel or not.

 

Remy pressed against the front of you now; you knew it was him, even with your eyes closed in bliss. Nothing could replace the sweet smell of clove and spice. He was a counterpoint to who was behind you now, pressing you firm, you undulating into him and back into the mystery man behind you.

 

The bass thudded in your heart, through your veins, and the lights flashed blue and green. The dance floor was a pulsing creature, a mighty beast that fed off of sweat and lust and desire and every little thing that was human, and you were losing it, you were going to overflow, it was too much, wonderfully too much, and Remy, hot and heavy and masculine was grinding up against you, his hands fevered across your body, leaving damp hand prints across the silk of your skin, and each whorl of his fingertips was an electric shock into you - 

 

You were panting hard, clinging to his dress shirt like a life preserver in the middle of this sea of absolute pleasure, and you were going to lose it. “I…can’t, Remy, I can’t hold it, God, I can’t-” The man behind you groaned, low and heavy, his erection fitting neatly between the cleft of your ass. The friction between him and Remy’s own burgeoning erection against the front of you was driving you mad; you could feel yourself growing wetter by the minute, soaking through the crotch of your panties. 

 

“Give it to me,” Remy rasped in your ear, “Give it all to me.” He pressed his hips into yours, and the firm bulge of his erection pressed against your thigh, his lips at the hollow of your throat, drinking your sweat, under the curve of your ear, the side of your mouth, his breath heavy, feverish, his skin slick against yours, feeding into you, you feeding into him, past lust, past desire, down to the core of who you both were, nothing more than flashing lights thudding time with the music, the lips of the nameless man behind you mirroring the actions of Remy’s, you were surrounded, drowning in hot fucking desire, in wanting to be fucked, and the mystery man’s hands shifted to hold your hips, pulling you in and out, the three of you in perfect sexual sync. 

 

“Give it to me,” Remy growled - 

 

And you did.

 

The overflow of power exploded over him, into him, covered the room in golden glitter that only the two of you could see, pleasure pure and simple, the pleasure of being alive, fluttered around the room, dousing everyone in a coating of the finest gold, and the room gave a collective moan, a low murmur of satisfaction, of understanding, and it looped back into you, into Remy, your cry of ecstasy blending to perfection with his, both drowned out by the bass, better than an orgasm, better than anything, the sheer force of the power left you with your knees shaking, your vision blurred, and you sank to the floor - 

 

Hands pulled you up from where you’d practically slumped on the floor, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Surprised” couldn’t begin to describe when the arms that held you jerked you close, and a pair of fevered lips clamped down on yours. It didn’t even matter anymore - you returned the kiss with gusto, raking your fingers through his hair. He wouldn’t read anything into the kiss - he knew you, your powers, well enough to know when something was in the moment and when something was more than that.  It’d be okay; Remy could take the onslaught of your powers, though it wasn’t the maelstrom it was a few moments ago. It was still enough to pack enough of a punch so that you moaned into his mouth - his feelings feeding back into you, your feelings passing into him, that loop you’d been so afraid of, and God, why had you been? This was amazing, pleasure upon layers of pleasure, washing you away until you were adrift on a sea of gold. His tongue snaked out, caressed yours, and he pulled you closer. The smell of expensive cologne caressed your nose, and his tongue dripped with fine liquor, burning sweet like a camp fire - 

 

And then you knew it wasn’t Remy. 

 

You pulled away from the kiss, startled, only to look deep into the lust blown eyes of Tony Stark. He clung to you, desperately, eager to start the kiss again, his eyes glazed gold.

 

_Oh this is bad._

 

_This is really bad._


	2. Somewhere in the world tonight (there's a fire blazing bright)

_**A few hours earlier...** _

 

You tossed your gym bag out the window, then your shoes. Then, clambering up the side of the wall, you inched your way out. It wasn’t a long drop (you were on the first floor, after all), but you didn’t want to get caught.

 

Enough was enough. Between the extra dancing lessons at school and the sudden uptick in dancing classes at Uptown Dance, your bank account was happy, but you were absolutely wiped out. After having your feet stepped on all day at Uptown, the last thing you wanted to do was get into with the kids at the School. You loved them, and you wanted to make sure you were at your best to handle them. And right now, you were nowhere near that. You just needed a night off. It also seemed as good as a time as any to make your big confession to Clint. A few nights ago, you’d had your piece with Steve, and he was such a gentleman about it. In your quiet moments with him, you’d opened up yourself to him, let him tiptoe through your emotions as you did the same to him, through the softest of kisses. And without needing to say anything else, he’d understood. Class act, that one. 

 

Now, all you needed to do was call Clint. Talk things out with him. Let him know how you felt - how much you missed him. Missed him like you hadn’t missed Steve: so much that you still set aside an extra tupperware of food every time you cooked. And, realistically, he DID still have your book. Whichever one he took.

 

See, this was an excellent plan - cut class, give Clint a call, and he’d be free, and you guys could do dinner, and - 

 

“Well, well, well. What have we got here? Dis cain’t be my Sugarbee cuttin’ class.” 

 

You caught the cherry glow of his cigarette before you saw him. Didn’t stop you from sitting down on your gym bag to pull on your shoes. “I’m tired, Remy,” you muttered. “I need a night off.”

 

“See, dis why Remy t’ink sometimes he be a telepath,” and with a sleight of hand, two pieces of paper appeared in his long fingers. It was too dark for you to see precisely what they were, but they looked like tickets.

 

“Nice pieces of paper,” you sighed, tapping your heels against the ground to settle your feet in your shoes. 

 

“ ‘Pieces of paper?’” He looked wounded, before it dissolved into his lady-killer smirk. Even though you were used to him (and all of his charm), that smile still did made  you fight the instinct to titter like a school girl each and every time he did it. He knew what it did - and he just grinned wider. “Come closer, m’petite.”

 

You took the bait. Lurching off of your bag with a comically exaggerated groan, you took your sweet time ambling over to see what he held. And then practically squealed.

 

“REMY. HOW?!”

 

For what he held in his hands were tickets to _Fervor_ \- the best dance club in the city. Mutant-friendly, and eye-wateringly high priced / high end. People with recognizable names went there. Your fingers practically trembled as you reached out for them. Once they were in your hand, you traced the fine gold embossing of the club’s name on them. This was elegance and party all in one go. 

 

And you instantly grew suspicious.

 

“Remy, do I even want to know what you did to get these tickets?”

 

He gave you a charming, “who, me?” smile.

 

“You know what? The less I know, the less culpable I am. But I can’t go, dressed like this.”

 

“Told you, Remy might be a little telepathic. I got ‘chu, fam.”

 

“…Don’t ever say that again.”

 

_______

 

You were dressed to kill, in a short (favorite color) skirt and plunging shimmery (favorite color) top that dipped low in the front and left your back wonderfully bare. Your make up was on point, and your hair was equally fabulous. Remy had come through for you again. Sometimes it wasn’t so bad having an absolute scoundrel for a friend.

Before you could even make it into the club, the thrum of the music on the street had you moving, and it just got worse as the two of you actually entered the club. If you thought the main floor was posh, it had absolutely nothing on the 30th floor – the VIP section. Only the cream of the crop got in here – and it was magnificent. Panoramic views of the night sky, a darkened dance floor, and incredible music. As soon as you set foot in the exclusive room, you squealed, grabbed Remy’s hand, and were out on the dance floor.

____________

 

**Now...**

 

Instantly, Remy was there, helping you to untangle yourself from Tony. Stumbling to your feet, you fell back into Remy’s arms. Remy protectively moved an arm across you, easing you from the dance floor. His breathing was ragged, and his grip on you was tight, fingers digging into the sweat slicked skin of your shoulder. The dance floor was an orgy of pleasure now – people melting into their own desires, winding in and out of each other, **_truly_** connecting.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed, fumbling for a bar stool. You sat down heavily, struggling to recall the exercises that Betsy and Jean had walked you through, trying to bubble in your feelings. But everyone on the floor was illuminated, smiling and happy. And you were slipping again, wanting to revel in what you’d created, no, what everyone had given you, and you were so thankful, you just couldn’t help it…

“Sugarbee, stop, I can’t…” Remy’s voice brought you back to the real world, his breath hot against the crook of your neck, peppered with fevered kisses. His hands wrapped around your torso, settling under your breasts, caressing the underside of them. “I can’t take anymore.” His voice was pleading for you to stop, his aura begging for more, asking for you to keep filling him with this pleasure beyond the scope of one human being. “I’m gonna do somethin’ I’ll regret if you don’t stop.” His eyes were burning embers in midnight, and your breath caught in your throat. His hands were slipping between your legs, fingers boldly caressing the juncture of your thighs. The charisma pouring off of him was enough to drown in, enough so that breathing was difficult. Feeling the dampness of your panties, he growled low in his throat. “Sugarbee…”

Panting, you moved – your arms, hands, felt as if they were mired in concrete. You had to move his hands. In the small part of your mind that was still rational, you knew it would be a bad idea, but if it had to be anyone, Remy would be the best, Remy wouldn’t judge, Remy wouldn’t be difficult to deal with after, but to be with Remy was to fall in love a little, that’s how his powers worked, that’s how yours worked like this, and you had to stop, you didn’t want to see what would happen if the two of you went past that point of no return –

Hands moved hair away from your neck, and lips fixed beneath your ear, facial hair tickling you.

“Come with me,” Stark’s voice was a needy purr in your ear. “Please.” His bare skin against yours fed images into your head, making what he’d shared on the dance floor with you mere shadows. Inside of him was an inferno – you could literally see that it was taking all of his self-control not to take you in the middle of the dance floor.

A sudden sharp pain brought you back. Remy looked at the two of you, rubbing his cheek from where he had sharply bitten the inside of his cheek. With his hands on your skin, you were able to catch the spike in his feelings. Like swimming towards the surface from the bottom of a dark lake, logic was beginning to break through. Remy was right; you had to get control. Remy’s eyes were hazy, as if he were waking up from a dream. His hand was firm in yours, and he squeezed so hard that it hurt. You could almost breathe now, almost feel yourself closing back in around your inner most thoughts, but oh, right outside of those walls you were trying to build was something magnificent and wonderful. All you needed was one last look…

And in that one moment that you took, that one moment too long before your shields were up, Tony’s hand in yours pulled you back into the depths of that lake.

Stumbling over your heels, you could barely tell what was real and what wasn’t. Once past the bar, he pushed out of the plush doors, into the muted lighting of the deserted hallway. Dimly lit, the hallway was warm, though it was a shadow of the exquisite joy that you’d left on the dance floor. Moving through a dream, you were hyper conscious of every little thing around you – the smooth, hurried breathing of Tony, the tap of his shoes against the floor, the counterpoint of your platforms, the pulsing of your heart in time with the echo of the music.

He turned now, hand still in yours, looking at you with that luminous gold gaze. He was completely under your thrall, his aura emanating from him, golden northern lights. It rippled around you, entered you with each beat of his heart, and yours echoed your own aura back out into him. Why had you been afraid of this? It was absolutely beautiful – everything he felt was nestled into you, folded in neatly instead of screaming and obtrusive. Everywhere that he hurt, you could soothe him. 

“ (Your name)….” His voice was raw, heavy. It was a tone you’d never heard from him, shy and vulnerable - and it was enough to give you a little push back towards reality. You blinked rapidly, trying to clear the gold from your eyes. As much as you tried to, you couldn’t – it clung stubbornly to your vision, to your emotions. When he soundlessly  pressed you against the wall, covering you with his body, you were lost again, surrounded in the smell of him, the lust and desire and something very close to a timid love easing from him. It was so sweet, delicate like a small bird. In tune to the music that was so very far away, he was grinding against you, his hips easing back and forth into yours, a slow stimulus that was leaving you breathless. He fit perfectly into you like this. His hands slipped down your sides, to across the sides of your skirt. Your cunt throbbed, almost painfully, knowing where he was going.

His face pressed against your neck, he exhaled your name again, and you could feel him savoring every inch of your skin as he slid his hands lower, running them along the bottom of your skirt before beginning to slowly hike it up. His breathing was faster now, his heart deceptively calm. He pressed firmer against you, the bump of his hips against yours impatient, before you could feel him willing himself to slow down. He wanted to make it good for you, for him. All of this communicated without a word, solely through his aura. You let out a soft whine, allowing his feelings to cascade over you, to be drowned in his fascination and that timid love that even he wasn’t sure of.

Your skirt inched higher, midway up your thighs. His hands slipped from the side of your thighs to the inside of them, and he gently pushed them open. He didn’t slip between them – instead, he let his hands do the exploration. He brushed against your core with your right hand, and you couldn’t tell who groaned louder – you or him. You were soaked through your panties, the fabric warm and sodden against you. He pulled away from you now, just so that he could look into your eyes. There was muted awe there, as if he couldn’t believe your body was responding in this way to him. So much love…

You bit the inside of your cheek, hard.

This was all wrong.

Tony didn’t feel this way about you. He couldn’t.

The flare of pain was enough for you to bring your focus back to the real world. “Tony, please, you can’t – AH!” Your words were cut off by a loud moan as he slipped a finger inside of you, and you nearly came right there from the sudden stimulation.

“…Please, (your name)…” He couldn’t finish. His head sank back into the crook of your neck and shoulder, and his left hand grasped yours, pressed to the bulge in his pants. Your legs were shaking. You bit the inside of your cheek harder until the metallic salt of blood came. You were pulling the euphoria back into you, trying to draw it from Tony. With a low moan, he pressed harder against you, and a second finger joined the one working so agonizingly slow inside of you.

“Touch me, (your name)…”

You tilted your head back, and closed your eyes, letting Tony work your body. Your hand over his cock stroked it through his pants, clumsily fumbling for his belt, his zipper. He sloppily helped you, biting your neck hard as his cock finally sprang free from your efforts. He was already slick with want, and your fingers ran over the smooth flesh of his head with ease. His groan turned into a growl, and he pumped his fingers in you harder, curling them just so to rub against your g-spot. Your eyes flew open as you let out a breathless scream, your body tightening around his fingers. He wiggled them, delicately, once, twice, before he slowly let them slide from you. Breathing hard, your vision was hazy around the corners as he lifted his fingers to his lips, and licked them clean, an expression of sheer bliss on his face.

“Tony, please…” your voice was small, pleading. How could you pull him back? You didn’t want him to stop. He didn’t want to stop. He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath redolent of you and whiskey. Without a sound, he reached under your skirt again, worked your panties down to your knees. Positioned himself between your thighs –

“Tony, I’m so sorry!” It was a desperate cry from you, a last resort before you gave into him. You reached into him, grabbed the first negative emotion you found, and yanked. Tony’s eyes went wide, the gold fleeing from them before they closed, and he collapsed, bonelessly, against you, out cold. Struggling to hold him up, you cradled his head to your shoulder as you slumped down to the floor, wild eyed and panting.

You’d done the right thing, hadn’t you?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't lost you, have I?


	3. Wishing all the while to see

You were woken up by sunlight filtering through the window. Your head throbbed, and moving was painful. Stiffly, you sat up, trying to get your eyes adjusted to the cheery sunlight.

 

“Cheery” was the last thing you felt.

 

You felt like you’d had a training session from hell with Logan – every inch of you hurt. Looking at your arms, your legs, you were surprised that you weren’t covered in bruises. Looking at yourself was tell-tale – you were still in your clubbing gear from the night before, sans shoes.

 

_Oh, God, Tony…!_

 

You bolted out of the bed – only to realize that Tony was nestled in beside you. He was still dressed in the clothes from the night before, clinging to his pillow as if his life depended on it. It only took a moment for you to realize he was having a nightmare.

 

A nightmare you caused.

 

Trying to stop the sudden burn of tears to your eyes, you reached over, and touched his cheek. Focused. The direct contact yanked you physically into the depths of his nightmare, and flashbacks of the burning desert, pain, the panic of seeing the wormhole into the galaxy – tears were steaming down your cheeks. Breathing was painful; your lungs didn’t want to work. Panicking, your breath came choppy, then not at all.

 

“( _Your name,)_ ” echoed a voice, dulcet and soothing. “( _Your name.)_ You are ( _Your name.)_ ”

 

You snapped out of it, tethered to the sweetness of Charles Xavier’s voice. It was a sort of “switch” that could be flipped when you ran the risk of getting caught in a negative emotional feedback loop. His voice was enough, snapping you back to focus. Shaking off the trauma from Tony, you resettled it all where it belonged. You found the good memories, the warm feelings, and gently nudged them to the surface of his mind, replacing the fear, easing the anxiety. Ruefully, you wondered if Charles had ever considered that you could get caught in a positive emotional feedback loop. If he had, this whole thing could have been avoided.

 

In the “real world,” Tony’s breathing eased, and his body relaxed. Coming back out of his head slowly, you nearly collapsed back onto the bed, your arms shaking. But at least he was okay. With a small smile, you moved hair away from his forehead. He settled into your touch, before snuggling into the bed. Letting your fingers drift from his forehead, you stood up. First thing was first – you needed a shower. Then you could start talking.

 

________

 

The shower had helped you at least feel physically “there” - mechanically, you’d changed into one of Tony’s black tank tops and some sweat pants you’d found. They were large on you, but it was better than staying in your club clothes. 

 

After you’d knocked Tony out, there was a moment of panic. Was he still breathing? How badly had you messed up his head? Before you could succumb to the panic, Remy had found the two of you. Since you vanished from the dance floor, he’d searched the club for you. It was with Remy’s help that you got Tony bundled up and made it back to the Avengers tower. The ride back to the Tower was a blur - all you really remembered was cradling Tony close to you, holding him ever closer as he was convulsed by nightmares. 

 

Once Remy helped the two of you into the tower, you checked Tony’s vitals. You weren’t a doctor by any means, but JARVIS was incredibly helpful. JARVIS stated that Tony wasn’t catatonic or in a coma; he was just sleeping. Plagued by night terrors, but sleeping nonetheless. The very matter of fact way that the AI put it twisted the knife deeper in your heart. But, once you had gotten Tony settled in as best as you could, you sent Remy home. This was your fault. You had to make it right.

 

And now, you waited. Perched on a barstool, waiting for the personal shopper to come back with the grocery list you’d mechanically listed to JARVIS. Praying that Tony would stay sleeping until you’d cooked, and had some sort of peace offering to provide him.

 

Luck would not be on your side.

 

“I gotta hand it to you, Sugarbee. When you party, you party.” Tony was ambling out of his bedroom, far too calm and collected for what you’d put him through. Still in the rumpled clothing from last night, he had a manilla envelope in his hand. There was a hard set to his eyes that made you shiver.

 

Sauntering over to where you sat, he leaned against the bar a few feet away from you. Opened the manilla folder, and began to read.

 

“ ‘Charm.’ ‘Charisma.’ ‘Reads emotions through a self-designated color spectrum.’ ‘Empathetic ability.’” He annunciated each word carefully, looking up at you meaningfully as he finished each one. The way Tony read from the file felt like each word was a new accusation. The science behind you was cold, ugly - easily twisted.

 

Your stomach dropped to your feet.

 

“Tony, listen-"

 

“Oh, no; we haven’t even gotten to my favorite one yet: ‘emotional control and manipulation. Has the ability to cause euphoria or despair, depending on contact and self-control.’” He looked up again, snapping the file shut. Without looking at it again, he threw the file down on the kitchen table in disgust. “I thought it was odd, that once I really thought about it, that one by one, you charmed every single person here. What were you doing, huh? Saving the best for last? Didn’t have enough men fawning over you?" He scoffed, shaking his head before looking back at you. “Doesn’t matter. I got one question for you, Sugar,” and he pushed off of the bar, standing. 

 

“Did you use your powers on me?” His voice was barely controlled, trembling in anger. Waves of anger rolled off of him, nearly hiding the deep core of hurt, betrayal, and confusion. Fear.

 

You swallowed, struggling to fight the lump forming in your throat. “Tony, I-"

 

“No. No!” He shouted, stepping closer. You jumped at the sudden volume of his voice, sliding off of your stool and nearly stumbling over it in your haste to back up.

 

“Did. You. Use. Your. Powers. On. Me.” Between each word, he stepped closer and closer, until he was standing over you, and you had no choice but to look into his eyes.

 

You finally swallowed the lump in your throat, but your voice was gone.

 

“Answer me, (your name).” He wasn’t shouting now, and that made the sudden quiet between you two all the more terrible. You gripped the edge of the seat of the barstool tightly, and struggled for the strength to speak. 

 

"I didn’t. Not on purpose,” and your voice was firm, surprising you. " _Never_ on purpose. I lost control-"

 

He looked absolutely incredulous, before the expression turned into a sneer. “Oh, isn’t that just convenient? Why should I believe you? Why should I believe anything that you say?” Pacing away, he looked at the folder again, a muscle in his cheek twitching. “No. You know what? Get out. I can’t look at you. I can’t deal with this.” He kept his gaze on the bar top; drummed his fingers against it impatiently.

 

You didn’t move. You had to stand your ground. Make him understand.

 

“Tony, I can’t do that. You need to let me explain-“

 

“No; I don’t **_need_** to let you do anything. Get out. If I have to tell you again, I’ll turn the security systems on you.”

 

Your blood ran cold, then into molten lava. 

 

“No,” you snapped, your anger unchecked. “No. You don’t get to throw me out and expect me to just go away when I need to explain what in the hell happened!”

 

He was surprised; nearly backed up in the face of your sudden rage. A small part of you was whispering, no, screaming, that you were making a mistake, that you were only making it worse, but your anger was so hot and soothing that you ignored it. “I goddamn care about you. You, and Clint, and Steve, and Natasha and Thor and Bruce. I would never, EVER, do anything to hurt or mislead any of you. You can bet your life on that. And Tony, I like you a hell of a lot, I may even love your stubborn ass a little, and you can’t just run me out like this. Ain’t no way, no how. I ain't lettin' you go. I ain't lettin' any of you go. Not over this. Not over somethin' that can be talked about!” Of course, in your anger, your drawl became thicker. And as he had advanced on you, you did the same to him, until you were chest to chest with him. Looking up at him, you were so close you could see the reflection of yourself in his eyes.

 

“Now, I can either knock you into next Tuesday,” you said, willing your voice to be quieter, “and make you listen, or you can sit down right here and listen to what the hell I have to say.”

 

Tense moments passed, where he couldn’t look at you. His entire body was rigid like whipcord, and you longed to touch him, offer some sense of comfort. You didn’t. He was too angry; the pain too fresh. You forced yourself to keep your eyes on him. In this battle of wills, you needed to win. And under all of the bluster, you knew why Tony was reacting the way he was. After all, you’d seen what really made him tick.

 

It was when Tony sighed and looked at the folder again that you realized he’d just come to the same conclusion - that there was no hiding from you. That there would never be any hiding from you. He sighed, and reached up, rubbing his eyes and the bridge of his nose.

 

“…Alright, (your name). I need you to tell me what the hell happened last night. I need to know everything about your powers. About you. Now.” His voice was sharp again, guarded. There was a dropping of his shoulders that gave you hope, and letting out a long breath, you nodded.

 

“Best make yourself comfortable, then.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, my. I'm on a roll. 
> 
> *secretly loves Tony maybe best of all*


	4. I don't know who to believe

A little bit of awkwardness you could deal with. This was something entirely different. The minute that tempers had crept back, you were suddenly all too aware that you were in his clothes. Much to your sense of relief, he didn’t seem to register it, his eyes still hard and locked on you.

 

“…You don’t have to look at me like my hands are guns, you know,” you said, finally, easing back into the stool. You kept your eyes on your bare feet, hoping that the gesture made you seem less threatening. “I’m a mutant; not a ticking time bomb.”

 

Tony licked his lips, opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked to the side, his brows furrowing. The gears were turning; you knew it. In lieu of the whole situation, your powers were as “turned off” as they got; every bit of your focus was to keep your vision squared on the world that surrounded you. Besides, you didn’t need them to know that Tony was torn in how to proceed.

 

“Before you can come up with a smart ass comment,” you looped in, hoping to take the pressure from him, “I’ll go ahead and just…I guess, tell you how I work. The way my powers work is that I can 'see' how people feel, in waves of color. Most empaths feel what other people feel; that's why it took me so long to be 'diagnosed' as one. It wasn’t until much later, I guess maybe around puberty, that I started to be able to feel what people feel if I touched them or got physically close to them. It’s actually sort of common with mutants - powers spiking or appearing at the onset of puberty. Imagine dealing with all of the fun parts of being a teen and include setting things on fire with your mind.”

 

You smiled weakly, hoping to get a smile out of him. He was stone-faced. You swallowed, hoping your cheeks weren’t as red as they felt, and continued.

 

“Once I get a sense of how someone feels, I can twist that to my own ends. So, for example, I ran into Thor when I was chasing after some muggers. I was able to grab onto one of those guys feelings of fear at being in front of Thor and pull it to the ‘front’ of his emotions so that fear was all he felt.” You nervously ran a hand through your hair. There was no easy way to explain what you had to say next, so you went for it. “If I can feel someone is interested in me, I can work that emotion - magnify it, decrease it. I can’t **_make_** someone feel what isn’t already there - so, like, if someone didn’t already like me, I couldn’t MAKE them like me through their emotions.”

 

His expression darkened. You mentally kicked yourself. What a poor choice of words.

 

“Okay, let me rephrase that - I can’t make people feel anything that isn’t already there. The charm and charisma part? If I’m happy or content, I can project how I feel out, people instantly feel comfortable around me.” You drew your arms in, then pushed them out to illustrate your point. “That…” You trailed off, squeezing the sides of the bar stool, “I have no control over. But,” you added quickly, “to be fair, there are some people in the world who are like that, even without mutant powers. People generally tend to be comfortable around me because of my accent, or whatever else. I’m not entirely conscious when I’m using my powers. I know how it feels when I’m focusing on it, but I’m not sure if that’s my power or if it’s really me. Dr. McCoy has a theory that I’m constantly low-grade ‘leaking’ when I’m happy, which isn’t a bad thing, but…”

 

You weren’t sure if Tony’s frown could grow any deeper. You swallowed, ignoring how warm you suddenly felt. You had to dip back into that bravery you felt not that long ago. “Remy has a bit of the same ability - that's why we're so close. That’s the man you saw me at the club with. The Professor assigned me to work with him to learn control - and because we're so similar, background wise." You wouldn't divulge anything else about Remy's past; that had been a hard won trust for you, and you weren't about to betray it, not even for Tony Stark.

 

"But here's the downside," you continued, "If I lose control, if I get angry, if I get depressed, my control shakes. If I don't exert just the right amount of control, I end up creating zombies. Potentially permanently. If I'm caught off guard, I can project my own emotional state by touch - it fades quickly, but I'm not myself for that moment. I don't know who I am anymore - because it creates this feedback loop. As much as I pour into another person, they pour back into me. I'm working with the Professor to learn how to close that off.” 

 

“…So you don’t have full control of your powers? As dangerous as they are?” It wasn’t clear what hurt more: his tone or the sharpness in his eyes. He was suddenly looking at you like the rest of the world - the rest of the world that saw mutants as a threat. And he was the last person in the world you wanted, or expected, that look from. 

 

“I normally do,” now it was your turn to focus on your hands, fighting back the hard sting of tears. “I can usually lose control and not hurt anyone.” Your voice grew smaller; so much that Tony was now leaning forward slightly. 

 

“What do you mean, ‘lost control and not hurt anyone?’ Can you physically hurt someone?” The sting of accusation in his voice was too much. Your vision blurred, clearing only when two fat tears fell from your eyes.

 

“Everyone at the school and at the dance studio knows I’m a mutant and my powers can’t hurt them.”

 

“How can they not hurt anyone? Can you…can you turn them off?” Under the accusation, there was a hint of the curious genius Tony. It was better than nothing. With a wavering smile, you looked up at him, and wiped your eyes with the back of your hand. Tony’s expression creased for a moment under the weight of your tears, before he composed himself again.

 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

 

“I had a body print of an Asgard prince in my floor for months. Try me.” Cockiness was in his voice again. Progress. This was good. 

 

Your smile strengthened a little. “All right, but you can’t get mad at me because it doesn’t make sense. I don’t hurt people by telling people the extent of my power. At each orientation, either at Uptown Dance or at the School, I introduce myself. ‘Hi, I’m (your name)’, and I’m an empathetic mutant. I can read your emotions via an aura.’ Done.”

 

He squinted at you. Then raised an eyebrow. Then squinted at you again. ”That doesn't make any logical or scientific sense."

 

"And shooting lasers from your eyes does? Look, we don't understand why the X gene manifests itself the way it does in people. I don't know why the failsafe switch for my power is telling people. You can read about it, and I can still use them on you. But for some inexplicable reason, me verbally telling you what I can do breaks the spell. It's more magic than anything else -maybe I have a pissed off fairy in my life that cursed me. I dunno."

 

"Prove it." His face was hard.

 

You sighed. You owed him that much. Taking in a deep breath, you allowed the Second Sight to come in - let the colors of Tony's emotions wash over you. After all of this, as conflicted as he was, you could still see the violet of desire flowing from him. In any other circumstance, you'd be flattered.

 

Honing in on it, you pulled it to the surface, wrapped it around yourself, your voice, and when you spoke next, your eyes were illuminated bright violet from within:

 

"Tony, I want you to come over here and kiss me like you'll never kiss anyone again."

 

Tony's eyes on you seemed to reflect the violet smoke cascading from him...before they went back to their normal dark brown.

 

"You're kidding, right? I'm livid at you. And nothing happened," he threw his arms out. "You're lying."

 

"Sorry, but I'm not. I just proved that my powers don't work on you.” As if on cue, the door bell rang, and JARVIS chimed in:

 

“I do hate to interrupt, but the personal shopper is here with Miss (your last name)’s purchases. Shall I let him in?”

 

Tony looked at you; a mix of ‘ _how dare you_ ’ and optimistic ‘ _Oh my god you were going to cook.’_ “Uh, yeah, let him, her, whatever, let them in.”

 

“I’ll prove it right now, then,” and you slid off the stool. So your luck wasn’t that great earlier. Looks like it was turning around now. You answered the door, unable to hide your amusement. All you had to do was this one little thing, and things would be automatically better. He’d see that you hadn’t done it on purpose. 

 

A hapless delivery boy stood  outside of the door. In order for this to work, you had to hit him with a double whammy - slap him with charisma to get him interested, then pull the lust from him to get him to kiss you. And it needed to be neat and quick.

 

"Why, that's quite the fast service you got there," you purred, letting the charisma sparkle off of you. Showering him in gold, you nearly stumbled backwards from the force of his reciprocating desire and interest. Poor guy. "Why don't you give me a kiss, then?" And he was leaning in, dropping the bags of food, while you leaned back, holding the guy out at arm's length. Looking back at Tony, you gave him a ' _See, I told you_ ' look.

 

"Thanks for helping me prove a point. I think we're good to go," and you eased yourself out of his emotional aura, carefully rearranging things to how they'd been before you started meddling. This took a little more effort, and by the time you were done, you were breathing harder. The delivery boy looked a bit confused.

 

"Did...did something just happen? Oh, god, I'm sorry, I dropped the food, here, you don't have to tip me!" His young face was apologetic, and Tony waved him away, as he struggled to compose his features. You picked up the bags of food and set them on the bar. 

 

“You’re fine, kid. Thank you.” You pressed a few bills into his hand - you’d pulled the money out of your shoes the night before as you undressed. He didn’t need to know it was sweaty shoe money. He closed his hand around the money, gave you a small, red-faced smile, and dashed off. 

 

Quiet reigned in the Tower as you strolled back to the bar. 

 

"See?"

 

"So it's also like a MIB thing where you flash them and they forget what just happened?" Tony finally said, the words tumbling out of him.

 

"I guess," you said, sitting down heavily. Normally you had more time to finesse the manipulation of emotions - doing it this quickly took a lot out of you. Way more than you initially thought. The room was spinning, and you reached out to steady yourself.

 

Tony’s arms were on your shoulders in a moment. “Hey, hey, (your name), you okay?”

 

Joy flooded your chest. You put his hands over his, and gently squeezed. “I’m fine. Just need a minute. That took a little out of me.” You looked up into his eyes, not breaking contact. It wasn’t romantic - it was sheer relief that kept your hand on his. He was finally touching you - it meant he wasn’t scared. Or that his concern overrode his fear. You’d take it either way.

 

He looked at you, taking you in bit by bit. He kept his hands on your shoulders, before sliding them down your arms. You were unsure where he was going with it - but didn’t want to disturb the moment. His hands trailed over the crooks of your elbows, down your wrists, and you held your arms out for him. He pressed against your wrists, your palms, your fingers. He held your hands up close to his face, and he peered between your spread fingers, turning your hands over and over.

 

“Incredible,” he breathed. “You feel normal. Normal skin. Not like a frog.”

 

“A frog?!” You snorted.

 

“Yeah - porous skin. Amphibians. Don’t they teach anything in that School, or is that just the result of your fine Southern upbringing?” Banter was in his voice, covering any lingering emotions. You could still feel them under the surface with him, but you were done prying. You knew he knew. And you knew that this was his fumbling attempt at re-establishing normalcy with you.

 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He let go of your hands, but his eyes were still tracing the lines of your body, calculating. On anyone else, that kind of look would be insulting, but with him, you knew it was the genius in him trying to understand that pretty much blew his mind.

 

“So, you can totally be mad at me about that,” you sighed. “I assumed it was in the information that Charles kept sending over. And I’d told just about everyone else-”

 

“So Birdbrain and Spangles knew? This whole time?”

 

“I guess?” you shrugged. “I told Steve when we were at the movies. And Clint - I think he knows, but I’m not sure.” 

 

“You need to make sure,” he said, sharply. You balked under the sudden shift in tone, and, abashed, he took a step or two back. “So now I know about your powers. Now I need to know about what happened last night. What happened? Because the whole mind-wiping thing that I just saw definitely did not happen with me. I remember everything. The way you smelled, the way you tasted-”

 

He cut himself off, amid a sudden flare of pain. “Just tell me what happened.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of these updates, y'all. Don't get too used to them; I gotta start slowing down somewhere! 
> 
> *Because she totally loves Tony the best*


	5. You've got to save us from what we've begun

“I thought Remy could handle it.” Before Tony could ask, you held up a flour covered hand. “Lemme finish. So, Remy. I thought he could handle it because for some inexplicable reason, he works as a sponge. As long as I’m physically close to him, I could let my shields drop, and he’d absorb it. We don’t know why it works that way. Dr. McCoy thinks it has something to do with how similar our powers are.” You laid down the flour covered chicken in the heated skillet. It hissed and popped, and the warm smell of fried onions and seasonings filled the kitchen. Tony was sitting on the opposite end of the bar, a glass of whiskey in one hand, watching your movements. “Remy gets a…” you paused, twisting your lips to the side as you looked for the right words, “a ‘contact high’ of sorts. He can suck the excess emotion from me, contain it, and it gives him a boost to his natural charisma and charm. Almost like a battery.” 

 

You smiled down at the chicken in the pan. It was an asshole smile - yeah, what happened sucked, and you still felt horrible about what you did to Tony (and probably would for a long time), but up until that point, the night had been a blast. Thinking back on when it was just you and Remy was definitely one of the highlights of the past week. 

 

“And clearly he didn’t contain it all,” Tony cut in, setting his glass down. The ice cubes clinked together. 

 

“Hey, don’t blame him. I got overloaded. I’m human. So is he,” you said, feeling the need to rush to his defense. “Like I said, it’s not like I went in there thinking, ‘Oh, hey, lemme have such an orgasmically good time that I overload my best friend and zap an entire VIP club with ecstasy feels,’” you turned the chicken over, added a bit of broth and flour to the pan. “For the record, I don’t think anything else bad happened. No one else had direct contact with me but you and him. There were a ton of people in the club - the floor was packed. How did you manage to find me?"

 

“Business meeting,” he said, then raised his hands at your unconvinced face. “Really. Old business contact of mine from back when I was in the weapons game. Guy’s last name is Queen, from Star City. We used to party back in the day. He’s apparently seen the light and has turned over a new leaf. Guess having a near death experience will do that to you. Anyway, he suggested the place - classy enough that the tabloids wouldn’t roast us, and fun enough to keep us entertained without too much trouble. Do you know how hard my PR people have been working to keep me as ‘fun Tony’, but not ‘gross fun / train wreck Tony’? Ollie’s an old friend. A lot looser than that Wayne guy. Wayne can't party worth a damn,” and he lifted the glass to his lips. “He’s not all business, but he’s not that interesting to be around. Listening to him is like watching paint dry. At least that’s what I think he wants people to think. Can’t get a read on him. Anyway,” he pointed at you, glass in his hand, “Ollie and I are at our table, catching up, talking about old times, and he says, ‘Stark, you gotta look at these two on the dance floor over here,’ and I look over and I see that guy, that Remy, and then…” 

 

He trailed off, turning his attention back to the slowly melting ice in his glass. For the first time, you realized you were really looking at Tony. Seeing what his tells were - the far off gaze, the slight tightening of his jaw. It was precious rare that he dropped the facade, and it was hard not to be moved with the sheer transparency that he was showing you.

 

“I saw you,” he finally said, looking back up at you. “You were this…gorgeous, glowing thing. I could see the happiness radiating off of you. Cutting through everything else. You know, everyone’s phony at clubs. Drinking, trying to hit on whoever. No one’s ever really there to have ‘fun.’ They’re there because it’s what they do. Dance to catch people’s attention. I’m not condemning it, though,” he raised his hands, glass in one, and he took a long swallow. “Because I’ve been there and done that song and dance. I AM that song and dance. But you? You looked like you were there to dance and nothing else. Damn the world around you.”

 

Your cheeks were warm, and you made sure your focus was on the pan in front of you. The smothered chicken was coming along fine - nothing needed your direction attention. But if you looked up at him, you knew you’d lose it. 

 

“It was beautiful. ‘Tiny dancer’ and all. I thought I’d surprise you, you know, regular jerk-ass Tony, right, ‘What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this’ schtick. But the closer I got to you, the more I just…” He set his glass down again. His jaw tightened. 

 

You were still, heavily conscious of the rise and fall of your chest as you waited. 

 

“…I had to come closer. I had to have a piece of whatever moved you.” His voice was flat again, and the resulting silence between the two of you verged upon unbearable. You didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know where to start.

 

“Tony…” was all you could manage.

 

He held his hand up, not too unkindly, indicating that he didn’t want you to say anything. 

 

It was a very quiet cooking session, broken only by Tony occasionally getting up to refresh his drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more part to go, and then we'll be done...


	6. So long coming down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday; have a chapter!

“Hey Sugar; some guy’s been watching us practice for the last hour.”

 

“What?” You could barely hear him over the thudding of techno. You kept moving, until he turned down the music. 

 

“I said, ‘some guy’s been watching us practice for the last hour.’” Your dance partner for the night, Mikey Kim, jerked his head towards the window. No one was there. 

 

“Dude, no one’s there,” you said, rolling your neck to get the kinks out. “I think you’re losing it.”

 

Mikey’s brows furrowed as he turned his attention back to the window. “Huh. Weird. Before I turned the music down, there was someone standing out there. I promise.”

 

“Uh-huh. And I have a bridge in Brooklyn to sell you.” 

 

“Oh yeah? You got enough energy to be a smart ass, you got enough energy to get this song right. From the top.”

 

“Slave driver,” you pouted, but couldn’t help your smile. 

 

It’d been three weeks since the “dinner” with Tony. Three weeks of absolute radio silence from everyone. And three weeks of your heart mending from how incredibly lonely it felt. But you understood it. 

 

To his credit, Tony wasn’t rude or harsh to you when you parted ways. He thanked you for the food; even washed the dishes with you. Under the soapy water, your hands had touched, and he hadn’t flinched or drawn away. Awkward, but the elephant in the room seemed to be shrinking.

 

Until it was time to say goodbye. You and Tony had stood in front of each other for what felt like forever, not sure of what to do next. He looked like he wanted to hug you, but then he didn’t want to make eye contact.

 

“(Your name), I’m not good at this-”

 

“It’s fine,” you said, quickly. “It’s not like…” You stopped yourself. That could have gone worse. “Look, I know. It’s a lot to process. I don’t want to tell you how you feel. And….I do value you. As a friend. As a person. As Tony ‘effin Stark. Even though we never hung out all that much, I just…” Your cheeks were growing warm again. “This isn’t easy for me, either. I don’t want you to hate me. But I’m not going to push you, either. You’re an incredible human being. And the fact that I got to see you like that, all walls and layers down, I will always treasure. I want you to know that. So…Whenever you call me, I'll be there. Whenever you want me, I’ll be there. Whenever-”

 

“ ‘Whenever you need me, I’ll be around.’ Is that what you were going to say? Quoting The Spinners at me?” There was a shadow of the old Tony snark there, and you laughed.

 

“I wasn’t doing on purpose.”

 

“Well, it happened. And it was, for the record, cheesy and sweet. See ya around, (your name).”

 

And that had been that. 

 

“All right, so, you’re still a half-step behind,” said Mikey, walking over to stand beside you. You groaned, tilting your head back dramatically. 

 

Mikey Kim was, hands down, the best break dancer you’d ever met. He had such control over each part of his body - you wouldn’t be surprised if he could literally move each digit of each finger individually. He was also a slave driver. Rumor had it was that he was half of a dynamic techno duo from the 90s in South Korea, but, hell, you’d heard crazier things. He taught a few classes at Uptown Dance - he either worked with kids or taught Street / Hiphop for the most advanced students. People saw him if they wanted to  become video professionals. Really, it was his addition to the school that really picked up business. And it had been on his recommendation that you taught more classes, which was both a blessing and a curse. Despite being at the studio more often, your schedules didn’t usually overlap (you were either coming when he was going or vice versa), but whenever they did, you always managed to successfully wheedle a dance lesson or two out of him. It was a wonderful break from the perpetual jitterbug and Lindy hop that your life had become. But even that would end soon - the dance was next week. All that was really left now were the occasional polish-up lessons with the kids at Xavier’s. 

 

You’d stayed late tonight to work with Mikey. The other good thing about working with him? You’d told him from the first day that you were a mutant, what your powers were, and he’d looked at you like you just told him that the sky was blue. No response at all, save for a shrug. He didn't care. That…was nice. And it meant that you could cut loose like no other with him around.

 

After the night at _Fervor_ , you figured it would be safer to stay where you didn’t run the risk of affecting people with your powers. And Mikey was always good for pushing your limits and challenging the ever loving hell out of you like few others could. You knew for a fact that he was particularly hard on you because of your own reputation and abilities. If you were slacking off, he was the first to call you on it.

 

“Half step behind,” he repeated, pacing in front of you. “You’re not feeling it. Ba ba ba ba,” and he stomped his foot on the floor, setting the pacing of the music. “That’s how it goes. Do it again.” He walked back to the stereo, cued the song, and squatted, to watch. Techno blared through the room again, and you automatically started to move.

 

_She drives me so crazy  
I only have you_

 

The song was in Korean, but Mikey had told you the English translation a few minutes ago, when you two had taken a quick break. You’d first heard it during one of his practices, and, as it often was with him, you stuck around later to ask him the name of the group. When it came to dancing, though, the specifics of the lyrics didn’t matter that much. You could feel the desperation, the frustration in the singer’s voice. And the harder you drilled your body, the more you focused on the beat of the music working its way through your limbs, it was becoming clearer why it resonated with you so much.

 

By the time you’d executed the ankle pivot just right, it came to you. With sweat running in your eyes, you danced harder, barely registering that Mikey had jumped up from his passive squat, and clapped loudly. “Yes. Yes! You got it, Sugar!” 

 

He jumped up, lean as a cat, and stepped in by your side. In the reflection of the mirror, the two of you moved in perfect sync. Mikey was absolutely flawless, breaking away from your moves to do a few of his own, popping and locking, his body fluid smooth, each “jerk” moving like butter. Before long, as the song moved into the last verse, he joined in with you again, and, cresting on the absolute high of dancing, as out of breath as you were, you were laughing. Finally, everything had made itself clear in your head – even if it was too late. God, it felt good to finally get it out, to feel it rush through your veins and steam out of you. The world was covered in sheer gold snow, a physical explosion of your powers that only you could see.

 

Thank god Mikey was immune.

 

The song at its end, the two of you stood side by side.

 

“You get whatever it was worked out?”

 

Still laughing, you went for your towel, patting your face. You were soaked. “Yeah – how could you tell?”

 

“Stiff, stiff, until, bwaaa!” He mimicked an explosion with his hands. “I knew you liked the song, so that wasn’t it. Had to be something else.”

 

“It usually is.” You stretched now. The dance was intense; you still couldn’t feel how long you’d been practicing. You knew you probably would feel it tomorrow, though. Dropping to the floor in a lunge, you sighed. Everything was clear now. What happened with Tony truly was an accident - you couldn’t blame yourself for that forever. If he was going to come around, he was going to come around, but you couldn’t chase him. And you still had to talk to Clint. Even if it was a lost cause at this point, you wanted him to know how you felt.

 

“Good. Now you can focus. Let’s do it again - different song, though. I wanna see your freestyle,” and Mikey started another song. 

 

So wrapped up in dancing, neither one of you noticed that Mikey’s mysterious stranger had shown up again. The stranger, in a hoodie and dark shades, was content to watch from outside, a small smile of wonderment on his lips. After watching for another 15 minutes or so, the stranger left as quietly as he’d arrived.

 

When you came into work the next day, Mikey was there to greet you at the front desk. It was odd to see him this early, and your surprise must have been on your face.

 

“Man, Sugar, you have some weird friends,” he said, walking behind the front desk. “Heather called me and told me to come in - some guy was asking for me to deliver this for you. I don’t know why he couldn’t do it himself,” and he held out a plain brown box for you. There was a bit of a battered red ribbon tied around it, tied by someone who clearly did not have any experience with tying bows. “Careful; whatever’s in it is pretty heavy.”

 

“Huh,” you muttered, taking the box from him - and nearly dropping under the sudden shift of weight. Mikey wasn't kidding; whatever what was in it was heavy. Setting it down on the counter of the front desk, you undid the ribbon, and opened the box. And gasped.

 

Nestled beneath the foam packing peanuts was a beautiful cast iron skillet. 

 

“Weird friends,” Mikey echoed from his spot behind the counter. “Who would get you a skillet?”

 

You ignored him as you reached in further. From beneath all of the peanuts was a card. Ripping it open, your heart fluttered as you recognized the firm slant of Tony’s handwriting. The card was dated a few weeks back - after you’d visited Bruce in the Tower.

 

_Dear Scarlett (fiddle dee dee indeed) -_

_Figured if you were going to be cooking for us, you needed something authentic. Never knew a Southern gal without a cast iron skillet. That is still a thing, right? Or did the Food Network lie to me? Either way, this is yours. Welcome to our weird family. Dibs on being the cool uncle._

_P.S. I made this myself. An iron skillet from Iron Man. Get it? Because that’s pretty amazing. Because I’m amazing._

 

Beneath the firm and practiced hand was a smaller, more chaotic addendum, dated yesterday: 

 

_I was going to give you this a while ago. Clearly. Then stuff happened. I still can’t see you. Still too much in my head. But it was going to waste here. Incredible card and all. Maybe one day you’ll whip us up something using it._

 

“Hey, you alright?” Mikey’s voice came you from a distance.

 

“Hm?”

 

“You’re crying.” He began to fish for tissues behind the desk. Quickly wiping your eyes, you shook your head, smiling.

 

“I’m good, Mikey. I’m good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all of my First Generation K-pop fans out there, I am being a giant dork - Mikey is based off of, well, Mikey, one of the halves of the techno duo, Turbo. (They originally started off as a duo with Kim Jung-nam and hunk supreme Kim Jong-Kook, then Jung-Nam was replaced by Mikey, but all three of them are on their 2015 album which gives me LIFE)
> 
> The song they're dancing to? Totally "Again", by Turbo. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6tPrej8Qdr0
> 
> This part's title and chapter titles are all from Jamiroquai's "Starchild."
> 
> All there's left now is the dance....are you guys ready?


End file.
